


The Bandit Queen

by SherlockianMuse



Series: The Bandit Queen Adventures [1]
Category: Muse, Rock Music RPF
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fangirls, Musicians, Romantic Comedy, Sexual Humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 05:18:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/618521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockianMuse/pseuds/SherlockianMuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A funny thing happened to Matt Bellamy one day in Mexico when he wandered off on his own…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

As per usual, Matt Bellamy was blissfully unaware that he looked like a bit of a twit, one of his more endearing qualities. His always questionable fashion sense had betrayed him yet again that morning, leading him to believe it was a smashingly good idea to go out dressed in a bright pink t-shirt, white jeans, pointy black boots and an over-large white cowboy hat that kept falling over his eyes. He’d earned quite a few raised eyebrows when walking through the hotel lobby that morning, and he had no idea why. Did he have something nasty stuck to the arse of his pants or something?  
  
Matt sighed moodily and adjusted his hat once again. He was quite fond of it, having kept it after a fan threw it on stage at a gig in the States, and had been delighted to have an excuse to break it out again when they booked the South American tour. He’d gone through a mad hat fetish phase back when they were recording ‘Absolution’ and still indulged from time to time. But he’d forgotten that this particular hat was too big and was sure he’d heard Tom muttering something about “deranged escapees from the set of ‘Dallas’” under his breath when he’d seen him earlier.  
  
They were in Mexico ahead of their first show in Monterrey in two days time and, as Matt had been enthusiastically spouting to any interviewer willing to listen, he was mad keen to soak up some of the area’s fascinating cultural history. He’d read up extensively prior to their departure and eagerly planned out all the places he wanted to visit while they were on this tour (which Matt would emphatically swear had _not_ been arranged just so he could go on holiday somewhere he’d never been before), anxious not to miss anything out. Armed with this knowledge, he’d accosted Dom and Chris at breakfast that morning, demanding they come with him to visit some Mayan ruins on the edge of the desert.  
  
Their less than rapturous response to this, really rather reasonable, request hadn’t deterred him initially, as Matt could be very persuasive when he wanted to be and the other two usually gave in eventually, if only in a futile attempt to get him to shut up. But they’d been vexingly truculent today, refusing to give into his cajoling, saying they were knackered from the flight, it was too sodding hot and all they wanted to do was lay by the pool and get nicely drunk. He could go and be a geeky history dweeb by himself, thank you very much.  
  
Outraged. Matt was _outraged_. He was _not_ a geek. The fucking nerve of them! So he’d shot them both the death glare, grabbed a banana from the bowl of fruit on the table and flounced off. Dom and Chris were uncouth peasants and he was better off without them anyway. The losers.  
  
Kicking the dusty earth at his feet disconsolately, Matt gazed around at the deserted landscape and sighed again. Man, it was quiet round here. He hadn’t seen another soul since he’d been dropped off, having instructed the driver to return for him in a few hours. Turning to jump out of the car, Matt had missed his look of surprise at his own nonchalance about visiting such a place alone, and blithely headed off without a backward glance.  
  
He may have been regretting the aloneness ever so slightly now. The surroundings would be mildly unsettling even when populated by tourists, and the lack of people and their resulting noise wasn’t helping to calm his always jittery nature. And loathe as Matt was to admit it, even in the privacy of his own head, it really wasn’t the same doing this stuff without the boys. There was no one to babble useless, and occasionally erroneous, facts at as they nodded in agreement and feigned interest. Dom was _excellent_ at that. And he was never as jumpy in Chris’s solid presence. So used to doing everything with the other two in cackling attendance, Matt was a bit lost when he wasn’t left to his own devices by choice.  
  
“Ugh!” Matt hissed in exasperation. He could totally have a good time without those gits about. Why was he being such a girl? Straightening his hat yet again, he strode off determinedly towards the decaying remains of a temple situated on the outskirts of the ruined village. It was why he was here, after all. To fucking well learn!  
  
Passing through the forbidding arched entryway, Matt was instantly shrouded in cool, musty air that bought welcome relief from the blistering heat of the day. He paused as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. It was twilit and shadowy, but the cracks in the high ceiling allowed sufficient light to see. The sudden appearance of a torch in his hand would be very handy right about now though.  
  
Hesitantly venturing further inside, Matt was assaulted by the deathly hush of the temple. Feet-thick walls dampened even the clicking of insects and rustling of the wind from outside. The silence was ominous, threatening. As if unseen forces were assessing him, weighing up the consequences if they deemed him unworthy of having crossed the threshold to this sacred space.  
  
Matt’s skin prickled at the feeling, and he rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit when he was feeling uncomfortable. Shaking his head at the overwhelming sense of trepidation, he imagined Dom and Chris taking the piss out of his ludicrous paranoia and huffed tetchily. What was up with him today? Pushing his cowboy hat up his forehead and forcefully dismissing the notion that he had anything to be worried about, he was moving to examine the gruesome carvings on the pillar closest to him when he heard...  
  
Galloping horses.  
  
Mental! The freaky vibes were getting to him. He needed to get a grip. But there it was again! And it was getting louder, closer. Cocking his head to listen intently, he was positive he wasn’t hallucinating. Horses. A lot of them, heading in his direction. Whether they were just passing through was the question. And where the hell had they come from? They were half an hour from the edge of the city and he’d seen nothing between there and here. Curiosity running wild, Matt walked slowly back towards the entrance. The horses were definitely just outside now, but he’d yet to discern any human voices amidst the sound of hooves.  
  
Stepping back into the harsh sunlight, he squinted as his eyes adjusted to the glare. When things came back into to focus he saw... Well, he wasn’t exactly sure what he was seeing, but whatever it was, it was completely nuts.  
  
There were eight or nine large men arranged in an enclosing semi-circle around the temple’s front, the horses they’d been riding tethered to the skeletal cacti that dotted the ground. And they all looked like, he really couldn’t believe this, they all looked like Chris in the ‘Knights of Cydonia’ video. Or a sort of oddly-dressed, dirty, disreputable, sweaty approximation. They all, to a man, sported Pedro ‘taches. Hats were clearly in, everybody having one, ranging from straw cowboy hats to sombreros. The clothes were a mismatch of traditional Mexican garb and random band t-shirts. One of them was wearing an Oasis tee with a poncho thrown over the shoulder and, holy shit, was that a _James Blunt_ top on the biggest, most flinty-eyed dude?  
  
Matt let out an involuntary snort of mirth at the sight, and the otherwise silent group stirred restlessly. What the fuck was going on here? Was this some sort of elaborate prank engineered by the lads? If so, they’d gone to an awful lot of trouble and expense, hiring all these actors, not to mention the horses. Matt giggled again and stepped forward to see if he could spot Dom hiding behind a cactus, pointing and laughing.  
  
At his sudden movement, the James Blunt fan moved towards him, raising an arm in his direction. Matt stopped abruptly when he clocked what was in his hand. Twatting hell, was that a fucking gun?! It looked pretty real, too. Now that he looked, they _all_ had guns, and knives, strapped about their persons. Okay, this was a bridge too far, even for Tom’s twisted idea of a good joke. But it was just so utterly surreal. He couldn’t muster the brain power to get concerned for his safety. “Seriously, what the fuck?” Matt asked plaintively, bamboozled at this startling turn of events.  
  
No response was forthcoming. However, as he made no sign of trying to move again, the weapon was lowered and the... there was no other way of putting it, the _Mexican bandit_ (Jesus, did he really just think that?) moved to the side as his compadres followed, parting the group down the middle. Matt tilted his head back to see out from under his hat and gawked as a new, previously unnoticed figure emerged. A shapely, female figure. A shapely, female figure holding a pistol directed straight at his heart.  
  
“So, Senor Bellamy, we meet at last. You are pleased, are you not, to make the Bandit Queen’s acquaintance?” Enquired a sultry, heavily-accented voice.  
  
Matt stared, silently and stupidly. For the love of God, who was she? Disregarding the deadly weapon, she was freakin’ foxy. He noticed the tits first. How could he not, with them spilling invitingly out of the top of a tightly-laced red corset, acres of taut, honey-toned flesh on display above a puffy-sleeved off-the-shoulder white shirt. Long, untamed, glossy black hair fell around a strikingly handsome face, the highlight of which was a sparkling pair of cat-like green eyes under strong, dark brows. Bare feet peeked out from the bottom of a full-length black skirt that shielded her legs from his roving eye, and was that a horsewhip hanging from a clip at her tiny waist?  
  
“I’m bloody ecstatic, love,” Matt blurted out after he’d recovered his voice. His flirty smile vanished as he registered her use of his name. “Wait a minute, how d’you know my name?” He continued before she could answer. “Oh, the boys must’ve told you. You were hired by a skinny blonde man in yellow trousers and a hairy bloke in a Transformers t-shirt, right? I’m a bit shocked they asked for the guns. Seems a tad extreme. Superb casting though.”  
  
Ignoring Matt’s inane chattering, the mystery woman walked towards him, pistol still casually aimed in his vicinity. Coming to a stop a couple of metres in front of him, she said nothing as she looked him over. He shifted uneasily at the icy glint in her eye and the proximity of the very realistic gun in her hand. This _was_ a big piss-take, right?  
  
The Bandit Queen was _not_ impressed. He wasn’t what she’d expected at all. His clothing was foolish and unsophisticated, and his hat made him look like a total dick. She found it difficult to understand his rapid speech and he was just... _nerdy_. But his face was truly exquisite, his translucent white skin enticingly touchable. She would snatch him anyway, as he was so pretty she would like to look at him some more. And he would have wealthy friends anxious for his return and willing to pay for it.  
  
“Senor Bellamy, you are coming with me and my associates,” the Bandit Queen enunciated carefully as she gestured to them with her free hand. “We are, how you say, kidnapping you? Yes, that is your English word. We keep you until your band mates pay the ransom we demand, and if money does not come, you do not leave.” She graced him with a charming smile. “Comprende?”  
  
Matt gulped audibly. This was a little _too_ convincing. Pushing his hat back with an unsteady hand, he looked behind the woman to the beweaponed crew of large, swarthy gentlemen apparently at her command. He just couldn’t see how Dom, Tom and Chris could have orchestrated something of this scope. They were clever, and determined when it came to giving him shit for their own amusement, but they weren’t _this_ clever. And they’d only had since last night to organise it! Oh. Crap. There was a very real chance that he was in a whole world of trouble right now.  
  
When intimidated, Matt got defensive. And when he got defensive, he got mouthy. Visibly bristling, he looked down his nose at the slightly shorter Bandit Queen and haughtily stated, “I’m not going anywhere with someone who addresses themselves in the third person, lady. Do you have a first name so I know who I’m walking away from?”  
  
“We are the Bandit Queen. This all you need to know,” she stated firmly in response. “And, by all means, walk away. You no walk very far, but are welcome to try. Easier you just come quietly. Would not like to have to damage that beautiful face.”  
  
Automatically giggling goofily at the compliment, Matt then scowled at his lapse. The Bandit Queen licked her lips. Delicious, and she was sure she could get him out of the dorky clothes without too much effort. But she was anxious to get back to camp, and his stubbornness was irritating. Was he worth the effort?  
  
Mildly mesmerised by the sight of her pink tongue passing over her pouty red lips, Matt straightened with an effort and let rip. “Look, you crazy bitch, I’ll play an entire gig acoustic before I’ll agree to anything you suggest. You’ve an arthritic senior citizen in a mosh pit’s chance of taking me anywhere against my will, so why don’t you bugger off and leave me in peace?” He wiped his brow under his hat, overheating in the baking sunlight, and flailed his hands in exasperation. “For Christ’s sake! Why can nothing I ever do be _simple_? Bet this sort of thing would never happen to Thom-friggin’-Yorke.”  
 __  
What a whiny little git, the Bandit Queen thought disgustedly. He wouldn’t be worth the effort if he kept this up, but she quite fancied the cash he’d bring in, so she’d just have to tolerate it. “The Bandit Queen is no interested in your opinion, Senor Bellamy, and has no idea why you think you have choice in matter,” she told him coolly.  
  
Enraged, and ignoring the weapon still pointed in his direction, Matt made to step forward. But, at a signal from the Bandit Queen, one of her mustachioed henchmen snuck up behind him and bashed him on the back of the head with the butt of his gun before he could complete the movement.  
  
Falling to the ground in a heap, stunned into insensibility, Matt groaned and lay still as his preposterous hat rolled away. The Bandit Queen smirked in satisfaction. She much preferred him like this. Holstering her pistol, she bent and grabbed his slim frame around the waist, hoisting him over her shoulder in a fireman’s lift. Years of life as a bandit had left her body wiry and strong, and his slight weight was no great challenge as she carried him over to her waiting horse, a magnificent black stallion ironically dubbed El Diablo, and threw him face down over the front of the saddle.  
  
Her amigos mounted on their own steeds and waiting for her command, she jumped up onto her horse with lithe grace and wrapped the reins around one hand. Matt was beginning to stir now, moaning feebly. Grinning evilly, she spanked his peachy arse hard and laughed gleefully as he squeaked in protest. Turning the animal with a light touch, she galloped off at speed with a lusty cry of “ _Arriba_!”, loudly echoed by the men following in her wake.  
  
Matt had just enough time to spot his beloved cowboy hat lying forlornly in the dust before he closed his eyes in terror and clung on for dear life.  
  
***  
  
The journey across the desert was fast-paced and screamingly uncomfortable and by the time they came to a halt Matt was an incoherent, exhausted mess. Sliding bonelessly to the ground from the stilled horse, he looked up dazedly as the Bandit Queen dismounted easily and stood over his battered form. “Where...?” He gasped hoarsely. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Where the fuck are we?”  
  
“Why, Senor Bellamy, we are at my camp, of course,” she responded pleasantly. “Where you stay until your friends give money to get you back.”  
  
The Bandit Queen made no move to help him up, but she didn’t reach for her pistol either, so Matt risked turning away from her to take in his surroundings. There were half a dozen scruffy tents scattered among a field of cacti, centered round a small spring. The horses were being de-saddled and led to drink by a few of the multiple Pedros, the Blunt appreciator coming over to take the stallion, while the others settled down around an unlit firepit and started drinking what he assumed was tequila while talking excitedly in Spanish, occasionally pointing at him and roaring with laughter.  
  
Looking away and sitting up with as much dignity as his bewildered mind could muster, he hung his head and breathed deeply. Right, Bellamy, think your way out of this. Yes, you’ve been taken hostage by Mexican bandits, lost your hat and no one knows where you are, but they haven’t really hurt you yet (he touched the back of his head and winced), well, not _too_ badly, and this doesn’t exactly look like a well-oiled operation. They were getting rat-arsed while he sat here unrestrained, for God’s sake! Just bide your time and look for the chance to slip away. His brain failed him when he tried to follow through on where to go if he _did_ get away, but he’d think about that later. Then he pictured the boys’ faces when they found out what had happened to him and groaned in horror. They’d be dining out on this one for the rest of his life if he ever got back!  
  
Reluctantly raising his head to look up at the, admittedly hot, unhinged female still standing over him, Matt calmly asked, “Why are you doing this? How do you even know who I am? It’s not like you’ve got a lot of access to the internet and record shops out here.”  
  
Reassured by his reasonable tone, the Bandit Queen lowered herself to the ground beside him with an elegant swish of skirt. He caught a glimpse of a wicked wee knife strapped to one lean thigh as she did so and swallowed. _Shit_. Resting a hand lightly over the gun at her hip, she eyed him speculatively as she decided whether he had earned an explanation or not. He hadn’t, but she’d tell him anyway because his eyes were so very lovely she wanted to look into them, which she could as she talked.  
  
“Backpackers. Is what you call them?” She asked him. At his jerky nod of agreement, the Bandit Queen went on. “Very silly. Especially English ones. We rob. Take money, keep. Take gadgets, sell at market. My compadres take clothes, wear.” Ah, Matt thought, that explains the bizarre attire, and he smiled a little, but quickly made his face impassive when he saw her register it.  
  
“Months back, rob young, stupid English boy at same place we take you. He wearing Muse t-shirt, which we let him keep, as he plead like girl that his favourite. Not knowing who this Muse is, and only one who speaks language, ask him about as riffle through backpack with one hand, hold at knife point with other.” She paused at a particularly raucous bellow from the other bandits, then went on, never taking her eyes off Matt. “He terrified, so not very helpful, but says something about best band ever, epic songs about end of world, Bellamy is God, seeing live better than sex.”  
  
Unable to stop the smug grin that flittered across his lips at this, the Bandit Queen snorted in amusement. “Intrigued, as Bandit Queen likes to rock as much as next non-bandit. Am holding his iPod now, and he tell me everything need hear on there, so tuck in corset for later. Ask what Muse look like, and he points to bag. Look, find magazine. _Kerrang_? Backpacker say this you on cover, inside. Bandit Queen likes. A lot.” She winked at him as she said this, and he blushed, raising a hand to his face self-consciously.  
  
Matt went into a bit of a trance as he watched her first-class breasts jiggle as she chortled throatily at his reaction. It would be a lot easier to think about escaping if she wasn’t so gorgeous. He raised his eyes to her face again with difficulty and she sent him a slinky smile as she leaned towards him slightly. “So, take all boy’s things, but leave him t-shirt, as we not heartless, and head back to camp. Bandit Queen goes to tent, gets out iPod, finds Muse, listens. For hours. While looking at _Kerrang_. Passes on tequila-drinking session with fellow bandits to keep listening. Loves. Wants more.”  
  
Her fingers had strayed away from her pistol as she warmed to her subject and started waving her hands, and Matt noted the slip and filed it away for exploitation later, but kept his air of polite interest as the Bandit Queen continued. “Next day, we go to town to sell week’s haul at market, buy tequila. Leave others to it, go to rich neighbourhood in search of Internet. Heard of but never used. Break into house with car in driveway and hold businessman inside at gunpoint, demand he show what to do with computer. He does, naturally, and search for Muse. Find official site, messageboard. Something called PMT?” Matt shuddered at this, but she was too enthused to notice. “Full of pictures of you. You are very sexy. Has man print some out so can take home with me. The Bandit Queen wants you, Senor Bellamy. Looks around more, discovers you are coming here to play. Decides she will have you. So she plans. And waits. And here we are, no?” She finished.  
  
“So, you kidnapped me because you fancy me?” Matt asked incredulously, subtly looking around to check if the men were fully occupied with their drinking.  
  
“Yes. Would very much love to... What’s the phrase? Fuck you senseless,” she smiled happily as she found the right words and Matt choked at her bluntness. “But also love to make huge heap of cash from your ransom. The Bandit Queen would like to buy farm and raise donkeys when too old for outlaw life, so needs money. Seemed like smartest way to get.”  
  
Spotting an opening as she her gaze wandered dreamily at the idea of her donkey farm, Matt leapt swiftly to his feet, faltering slightly as his head throbbed and body protested at the sudden movement, and dashed off in the opposite direction from the ring of heavily-armed Mexicans.  
  
Sighing, the Bandit Queen jumped to her feet, grabbing the item she’d secreted under her long skirt as she’d sat down, and followed. Wielding the rope with skilled ease, she swung it round her head once, twice, three times, and then let it fly. The lasso settled over Matt’s fleeing figure with deadly accuracy, and she gradually pulled it tight.  
  
Prematurely celebrating his own cunning escape, Matt didn’t initially notice the rope’s presence, and was startled at the sudden restriction as his forward progress was halted and he stumbled to the ground. What the fuck was happening _now_? Futilely flexing his arms, he glanced down at his chest and gasped. He was _not_ just lassoed. _I absolutely refuse to accept it_ , he thought viciously. _This did not happen_!  
  
Struggling to regain his footing, he was thrashing about in the dust with a demented expression of rage on his face when the Bandit Queen arrived with two Pedros in tow. Grinning at his predicament, she pointed down at him and said simply, “Tent.” One man grabbed Matt’s wriggling shoulders, the other his kicking legs, and they carried him off without a word, as he screamed and cursed and contorted, all to no avail.


	2. Chapter 2

The small, extremely disgruntled man swore fearsomely to himself and wriggled about on the thin mattress underneath his securely tied body. The two big and smelly bandits had dumped him unceremoniously on the ground inside the tent after the Bandit Queen’s curt order, squarely on top of a battered bedroll. He had sat up and scowled at the men but they ignored him, removing the lasso, pushing him rudely on his back and moving to tie his hands with a different rope, looping the free ends around a stake in the ground and hobbling his legs loosely with a second rope around his ankles. After they had snickered and left he had struggled gamely to pull himself free but the ground was hard and dry and the metal stake must have been buried deep. He had given up eventually and lain down on the tatty mattress, staring blankly at the green canvas roof of the tent as he noted every sound from the camp outside.

Matt was still reeling at the bizarreness of his current situation, torn between wanting to giggle uncontrollably and shout in rage. He was far too baffled to be scared, but he _was_ worried, not trusting the bandits one iota or his distant band mates, safely ensconced in their nice hotel in town. What would they say when some random bandit in a James Blunt t-shirt turned up at the hotel and demanded a ransom for their front man? They’d probably piss themselves laughing and tell the guy to fuck off. He would miss the gig and be stuck with the bandits forever, forced to enjoy the amorous attentions of the Bandit Queen until he was a dried-out husk. “There’s no fucking way I’m going to put out,” he muttered rebelliously to himself as he lay there in the scorching heat of the stuffy tent, remembering the woman’s dazzling green eyes, sweeping up and down his body with great appreciation as she told him of her fangirl leanings. She was certainly the most distinctive and mental fangirl he’d ever stumbled across on his travels. And had the nicest tits.

His rapid mind danced away from the thought of the Bandit Queen’s delightfully abundant bosom and moved instead to his many aches and pains. His head banged from the pistol whipping, he was covered in dirt and sweat and he was so screamingly thirsty his mouth felt like the bottom of a parrot’s cage. He turned his shaggy head and eyed the clay cup of water placed teasingly next to him, unable to reach it with his hands bound. Next to it was something even more tempting, a rough glass bottle of tequila, probably the same stuff that was being so enthusiastically consumed by the bandits outside. He could hear snatches of singing and drunken shouts, and the Bandit Queen’s rapid fire Spanish over the top of it all, barking out orders to the men to get the campsite sorted for the night. He dearly wanted to neck that bottle of tequila and join them in a sweet alcoholic haze, and stay drunk until he was hopefully rescued.

The tent was growing dim as dusk quickly approached and he twisted his head around to look at his watch, partially obscured by the rope around his wrists. It was past six, when he failed to show up at the hotel in an hour or so Chris and Dom would start to worry. Well, Chris might, but Dom was unlikely to be bothered, well used to Matt wandering off on his own with random people he had met and not surfacing for days. “Bastarding bollocks,” Matt groaned, his lean body slumping into the ground, irritation levels going through the roof. Fed up with being ignored by the disreputable gang outside, he decided to shout for some attention. “Oi, Bandit Queen! I’m fucking thirsty! Do you want me to bloody die of dehydration? Come in here and untie me so I can have a drink.”

There was no reply from outside, just the sound of a flamenco guitar starting up, one of the bandits presumably, getting ready to burst out with some incomprehensible Mexican ditty. He waited for a number of minutes before there was a stirring at the tent flap, the sound of swishing skirts and the sloshing of water. The Bandit Queen stepped inside, an oil lamp in one hand and a bucket in the other, still fearsomely armed with a pistol and horsewhip at her small waist. She raised her brows at him in exasperation, plonking the bucket down next to him on the ground and moving to place the flickering lamp on a small box in the corner. The dark tent was suddenly filled with golden light, throwing shadows on her honeyed cleavage and narrow throat, automatically drawing his eye as she turned back to him.

Her hands now free she placed them on her hips, staring down at him on the bedroll. “You most demanding for someone tied up and at our mercy,” she drawled, but she knelt quickly next to him on the ground, picking up the cup and holding it to his dry lips, scooping an arm under his head so he could sit up and drink. He swallowed the water in several gulps and she gently let his head fall back to the mattress. There was a thin, petulant line between his straight dark brows, and his wonderfully pretty blue eyes were clouded with annoyance, giving him the look of a spoilt brat. Again she wondered whether this little man was worth all the trouble she’d gone to, and she sighed, eyeing his shaggy light brown hair, completely messy and now rather dusty. “Why your hair no black?” She demanded crossly. “This we no like, you look like little boy now, not wicked sex god.”

“I was giving it a rest so it doesn’t fall out,” Matt said grumpily. “You bloody women are never happy with my hair. It’s too short, it’s too long, it’s not black, I want the red again… I can’t bloody keep up.”

The Bandit Queen laughed at his rant and snatched up the bottle of tequila, pulling the cap and taking a healthy swig as she continued to stare at him on the ground. His pink t-shirt was rucked up around his slim torso, giving her a tantalising glimpse of his flat belly, a narrow line of dark hair disappearing beneath his stripey belt and very grimy white Levis, a direct line to heaven, hopefully. “This bollocks, as you British say. Black is better, promise you dye it…or may decide not to let you go,” she said wickedly, her red lips curling in a rather endearing fashion before disappearing behind the bottle again, the tequila burning her throat pleasantly. Matt ignored the threat and eyed the bottle longingly, craving a taste of oblivion so he could get through the night without going utterly bonkers with worry and frustration. He squirmed impatiently within the confines of the ropes, his eyes closing in a wince when he felt the rough fibre digging into his wrists. Giving in to a mild flash of pity the Bandit Queen leant in to lift his head again, giving him several sips of the fiery tequila until he choked and spluttered, the liquor racing through his aching bones and reviving him for a moment. She laid a light kiss on his forehead before sitting back on her shapely bottom, bare brown feet and calves visible under the hem of her skirt.

“So what is the deal here?” Matt said after getting his breath back, his gaze moving from her legs to her striking face. The woman shrugged dismissively, a bare shoulder surfacing from underneath her white shirt.

“Pedro get message to your friends, demand money, we arrange meeting place. We ride there, take money, Bandit Queen hand you over, everything bueno. Providing-” she paused, licking her lips and eyeing him lasciviously. “We also get to find out whether you as skilled as you look.”

“There is no sodding way,” Matt said crossly. “I am not a fucking sex object, I won’t do it.” His lips formed a delicious pout as he stared up at her stonily, making the Bandit Queen inwardly flutter. He may be annoying, but _Madre a Dios_ he was damn sexy when he was riled.

“We not agree, Senor Bellamy, you certainly _are_ sex object,” she purred, her fingers darting out to tickle his belly, making him jump skittishly before she pulled away. “Your defiance only makes us hotter.”

With a confident smile she got to her feet, heading for a bag by the tent entrance and rummaging inside. Matt watched her go, her movements graceful, the generous curves of her body and flowing black hair causing him to stop and ponder. Would it be such a hardship to give her a jump? She certainly was gorgeously sexy, but highly dangerous and as mad as a box of frogs. Besides, winding her up was keeping his mind off his predicament. The Bandit Queen turned back to him, crossing the dirt floor with a towel and a cake of soap in her hands. “You very dirty, Senor,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “You fall down many times today.” She laughed suddenly, remembering his undignified tumble to the ground, caught neatly in her lasso like a stray goat. “Bandit Queen insists you have wash.”

Suddenly self-conscious Matt lifted his head awkwardly and eyed his begrimed clothes and the dirt and sweat coating his skin- he was very tempted. At least it would mean he could be untied for a few minutes and stretch his cramped shoulders and arms, and maybe make another attempt to do a runner when she wasn’t looking, unless… “You’re not going to do it for me are you?” He said suspiciously.

“No,” the Bandit Queen said, lifting her pistol from her waist and waving it about in emphasis. “We untie you, and supervise.” Her smile widened in mischief as she knelt beside his feet, deftly undoing the knotted rope around his ankles. She could not wait to see him undressed, she had been dreaming of it for months alone in the dark of her tent with only her copy of _Kerrang_ for company. She suspected this small man may not be small where it counted.

“Fuck off,” Matt groaned as the rope fell free from his legs. “I’m not getting undressed in front of you so you can have a good perv, woman.”

She snorted and glanced up, her green eyes stabbing him with a look, the gun in her right hand pointing at him casually. “Would you prefer if Pedro come instead? He very taken with you, Senor Bellamy,” she snickered. “He told the Bandit Queen you have fine skin and round arse of young girl.” The pretty man on the ground spluttered, breaking into a high, nervous giggle, and the Bandit Queen smothered a laugh in response, trying to remain stern. “Either way, you wash. Bandit Queen no like dirty men…unless they dirty in bed.”

Seeing there was no point in arguing and by now giggling uncontrollably like a nutter Matt merely nodded, and with a swirl of black skirts the woman got to her feet and moved to untie his wrists from the stake in the ground. As soon as he was free Matt sat up, rolling his narrow shoulders and stretching luxuriantly. The Bandit Queen sat down in a corner of the tent, her skirt drawn over her knees so she could play with the knife strapped to her thigh, the gun in her lap, watching as he kicked off his smelly boots and pulled his gay t-shirt over his head. She caught a glimpse of his chest, as smooth as a boy’s, his bare arms and shoulders laden with lean muscle. He was small and childlike but there was a subtle strength to his body that made her senses tingle, and his stomach was so gloriously flat and taut she ached to bury her face in it.

Matt turned his sulky, reddened face away from her avaricious gaze and picked up the towel and soap. “Now pants,” the woman said firmly, the corners of her mouth twitching in amusement. Sighing heavily his hands went to his belt, sliding it free and drawing the white jeans down his bony hips, his back still presented to her mutinously. The Bandit Queen let out a yelp of sheer delight when she saw his cherub-like bottom, black boxers clinging like a second skin to his tight round buttocks. It was moments like this that made being a notorious wanted bandit, always on the run and fighting to survive, totally worth it. There were thousands of horny women who would kill to be her right now. “Ah, Senor Bellamy, you are so pretty,” she half-sighed. “And we so lonely in desert with only big, hairy men for company.”

Even more embarrassed by her backhanded compliment Matt opted to ignore her sultry voice, picking up the soap and scrubbing himself obediently, splashing the water from the bucket all over his weary frame until his skin glistened with droplets and he was left standing in a puddle. The Bandit Queen thoroughly enjoyed the show, shifting edgily and drawing her knife in and out of its sheath on her thigh as she swooned over his terribly enticing scrawny body. But she kept the gun in her hand, ready for any foolish tricks.

Now as clean as he could manage and feeling better for it, Matt swiped the towel over himself and dropped it to the ground, then quickly snatched up his pants. “You have no need for those,” he heard the woman say. He turned to face her, raising an eyebrow in what he hoped was a stern manner and she rose to the challenge, standing up and shimmying towards him with a roll of her hips. “Sit fuck down,” she said sweetly, gesturing with her gun. Grumbling he returned to the bedroll and sat, automatically tensing when he saw her crouch next to him. The Bandit Queen pushed him on his back roughly, her ripe bosom hovering over his face as she tied his wrists to the stake once more, the scent of her body dusty and warm and alluring. He relaxed slightly as an involuntary tingle of attraction swept through his belly, the thought flashing through his mind that it might be quite pleasant to bury himself in those tits.

Once he was safely bound the woman did not move away. She placed the gun on the ground within reach and let both her hands dance over his face and neck, tracing every jutting bone and line of muscle gently as her green eyes darkened in what could only be lust. Matt groaned inwardly, knowing he was about to be thoroughly groped but, unwisely, the sick part of him was rather intrigued by the proposition. Still, he flinched when she bent her dark head, laying one biting kiss on his throat, murmuring into his shoulder in Spanish as she followed it with more, teeth nipping into his flesh, her cushiony lips leaving little pink welts on his white skin. “Oi, get off me,” he complained unconvincingly. The woman responded by kilting up her skirts and settling her bare brown legs around his hips, making herself comfy on top of him, obviously uninterested in his lame protests. Given the full length of her soft, springy body he felt a twitching in his groin, his dick clearly liking the attention even if his logic did not.

The Bandit Queen sighed happily as she eyed him under her, her nails scratching firmly down his naked chest as she bent to taste a nipple, pulling it hard between her teeth and then soothing it with a sweep of her tongue. Matt closed his eyes, trying to think about something boring for distraction, like record company lawyers, or one of Dom’s drum solos, but it was no use, she knew what she was doing. Her mouth and teeth and hands were all over his sensitive skin, tasting him with such wild appreciation he would have to be made of stone to resist.

It had been a long time since the Bandit Queen had taken a man for a bit of fun, and this man was entirely delectable. He feigned boredom and reluctance, but he was a shit actor. His silky skin quivered under her touch and she could feel something hard, hot and promisingly huge digging into her thigh. There was an urgent throbbing in her long neglected loins but she pushed it aside, saving her needs for later. She slid downwards, grasping his hips as she licked a trail from his chest down his stomach, dipping her tongue into his belly button before sitting up abruptly. Matt’s eyes fluttered open to stare up at her curiously, his clear blue eyes now dark with arousal though he struggled for an offended expression. “Having fun molesting me?” He said rudely, his voice a bit unsteady. “Don’t think for a fucking second I’m-” His words died in his throat as she smirked and began unlacing her corset, sliding the ribbons free from the tiny loops and pulling the garment apart, easing her loose shirt down until her breasts sprung free in all their honeyed glory, the brown nipples full and rigid. _Oh fuck me,_ he hissed to himself, instantly feeling his dick jump.

The irritatingly persistent woman then nestled between his spread thighs, her long eyelashes fluttering in evident excitement as she began to pull his boxers down, revealing his very obvious interest to her greedy gaze. She shrieked in glee, almost clapping her hands with joy. “Bandit Queen never wrong,” she said with satisfaction. “Small man, big feet, big nose… big cock.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re so happy about it,” Matt muttered, squirming with embarrassment yet again but smug nonetheless. “Don’t bloody do that, oh twatting Christ-” he said weakly as he felt her hands stroke him lightly, her long hair tickling his balls as she bent forwards, flicking her tongue over the shaft leisurely. And then, in a move that made his head buzz angrily she lifted his cock and shoved it firmly between her breasts, letting her round flesh envelop him tightly. He couldn’t help it- he arched upwards with a groan, giving up on his thin charade. She noticed the slip and chuckled evilly, debating whether to take him between her lips or give in to the strong urge to plant herself firmly on his cock and ride him to oblivion. But she was in a generous mood and he smelled and tasted divine so…

Exceedingly roused, her pussy throbbing and moist under her tangled skirts she let out a small moan, moving her tits over his dick a few more times before pulling back. Her skilled tongue lashed out, swirling roughly over the exposed head of his wonderful cock before diving to tease his tight balls, making Matt jump and swear vilely, biting back pleading words, wanting her to suck him off. She was cruel, mouthing and licking the inside of his thighs for some time, a teasing hand stroking his length too gently for any satisfaction. Finally she worked her way back up, breathing on his tense groin for several seconds before abruptly sliding her lips over the tip of his erection and down, right down to the base, swallowing him whole.

His eyes flew open in delighted shock, a surge in his balls drawing his body off the mattress and he groaned frantically, the pressure of her wet mouth and swirling tongue sending him completely stupid. Forgetting where he was and who she was he focused on the violent sensations she drew from his throbbing dick, the vibration of her moans giving away her obvious enjoyment. The Bandit Queen was struggling to breathe, her jaw aching as she crammed his full length down her throat but she went on, sinking her teeth into his flesh as her head bobbed up and down, the utterly enthralling sound of his pleasure adding to her own nagging desire.

She could feel the tenseness of his flesh, any second he was going to come like a witless boy and she wanted him to, to taste him on her tongue, wanted his juices spilling down her throat. And besides, he might be more skilled later if he let go now…she increased the pressure of her cheeks, squeezing him tightly as she again sucked him into the back of her throat and with a strangled cry Matt exploded, yelling many of his English swearwords as his come spurted into her. Highly pleased with herself she swallowed it all, letting out a purr of contentment as she let him pop free from her lips.

He may not have wanted it, but _bloody fucking hell_ he had enjoyed it. Chest heaving and cheeks flushed, Matt stared at the Bandit Queen in astonishment as she sat up, his stunned expression causing her to laugh as she wiped her bottom lip with her thumb suggestively. He watched her as she slowly raised her shirt and laced her corset back up, hiding her breasts once more, much to his regret. Giving him a brief smack on his bony flank she climbed to her feet, snatching her gun from the ground as she moved. “Is pleasure to serve you, Senor,” she said wickedly and turned and left the tent to join her drunk compadres outside, leaving him naked on the ground with his boxers round his knees, staring after her rather forlornly.

 

**INTERLUDE**

 

_Meanwhile, in a flash hotel in Monterrey…_

 

The three men sat in the dark by the rooftop swimming pool, surrounded by empty Sol bottles, lolling on plastic sun loungers and staring up at the stars. The swarthy man with a permanent smile on his rather handsome face was dealing out cards on the round table between the trio of chairs, attempting to get another poker game going. His companions, a small blonde pixie of a man who had gone an interesting shade of red in the Mexican sun, and a big hairy chap with a gentle face and impressively muscled arms, were rather drunk, extremely mellow and more interested in their study of the heavens than losing more money to their wily manager.

 

“Do you think Matt is right about humans coming from aliens?” Dom slurred, taking another swig of his seventeenth beer of the evening.

 

“Well, he certainly did,” Tom snorted. “What was he like this morning, flouncing off like a gay cowboy.” He snickered, recalling the front man’s haughty expression under his ridiculous hat when the others had mocked his suggestion for an educational day out. “He was proper pissed off when you called him a geek, Dom.”

 

The blonde man yawned widely and dropped his empty bottle to the ground. He was still jet lagged to hell, his skin throbbed and itched from the nasty sunburn he’d acquired and he was thinking fondly of bed, far too tired to contemplate going out and chasing exotic local birds, as was usual. “He should be used to that by now,” he drawled. “Seen him about tonight?”

 

“Nope,” Chris said in response. “He’s been gone all day. I’m starting to get a bit worried.” He frowned and scratched his bristly chin, the only one of the group to be mildly concerned about their leader’s disappearance.

 

“He probably got mugged for his hat and is lying in an alley somewhere,” Dom laughed. “Or else he’s found some Mayan spirits to commune with in the desert.”

 

“But there’s fuck all to do out there except look at ruins,” Tom chipped in, dragging his attention away from his card sifting to also speculate over Matt’s whereabouts. “He must have gone back into town and gone for a wander.”

 

Dom picked up his hand and scowled, deciding at that moment he didn’t want to play given the crappy odds. He was thinking about jumping into the pool for a bit instead, clothes and all, it was still horribly hot even at midnight. “Yeah, he’s off on a bender with some locals,” he agreed in a bored tone.

 

Ever the fatherly one of the group, Chris continued to worry, putting his beer down and sitting up. “But there’s some right dodgy characters in this town and you know how easily led Matt is…”

 

“Very,” his blonde friend snickered. “Remember that time in Las Vegas when he ended up in that Jacuzzi full of swingers. He was well sheepish afterwards, little spoilsport wouldn’t tell me anything.”

 

“Ahh, just like the old days,” Tom said, going all misty eyed for a moment. “If only I’d been there with my camcorder… Are you fuckers going to play a round or not?”

 

“Nah, I’m going to bed,” Chris yawned. “I guess Bells will turn up tomorrow.” He frowned as he got to his feet, a thought nagging at the back of his mind that his absent friend hadn’t gone off on one of his accustomed solo adventures this time, but he shrugged it off. “Probably met some bird, eh?”

 

“Good, he needs a shag,” Dom said crudely. “And hopefully the bird will give him a haircut as well. At this rate by the time we play V he’ll be tripping over his feet and running into walls.”

 

His big friend laughed briefly and turned to go, suddenly reassured that everything was as normal and he’d see a very smug and knackered, and possibly barbered, Matt in the morning. “Night you lot.”


	3. Chapter 3

With nothing else to do Matt fell asleep, still in his undignified position on the bedroll, his now raw wrists firmly tied with rope, his shorts stuck around his knees even though he had tried in vain to force them back up by kicking his legs in the air. As he drifted off into a doze he was serenaded by one of the bandits murdering ‘Plug In Baby’ on the guitar, playing it in a bizarre flamenco style while a woman’s lusty and surprisingly tuneful voice accompanied him in Spanish and the other bandits yelped and clapped. It was the randomest cover version in the history of music but a smile formed on his lips as he slumbered, his naked, trussed up body going slack, relaxing despite his troublesome kidnap, rough handling and unexpected blow job.

 

The camp gradually quietened down as Matt slept on, the pissed bandits staggering off to their tents, leaving only the Bandit Queen and two sentries awake around the firepit. Now the worse for half a bottle of tequila the woman was in a happy daze, her green eyes fixed and blank as she dwelled on the tasty, bare arsed man waiting for her in the tent, how pale and graceful his body was, and how astonishingly huge his dick was. Wriggling in her seat on the hard ground at the thought of that appendage, her desires still unfulfilled she eventually got up, bidding her loyal sentries goodnight and slipping back into the tent for round two.

 

The musician was comatose on his makeshift bed, his smooth lids hiding his lovely blue eyes, lips slightly parted as he snored lightly. Sniggering at the sight of him with his shorts still at half mast the Bandit Queen tiptoed around the bedroll, picking up the bucket, towel and soap. She stripped off her clothes quickly, striding naked and bold around the tent, laying out another bedroll for herself next to his and splashing water over her face vigorously while Matt lay there oblivious. Thinking that it was only fair that she wash as well since she had forced him to at gunpoint she turned her back and lathered herself with the soap, splashing more water over her slippery curves with a groan of contentment, feeling the dirt from the day’s thrilling exertions disappearing.

 

Her mind temporarily drifted from constant thoughts of what depraved things she was planning to do with the man on the ground to the money he would bring in- a barrow load of Pesos from his frantic band mates that would be her key to retirement from bandit life. She would raise donkeys and sell them to peasants, start a vegetable garden, maybe even learn to cook instead of just stealing food in daring midnight raids. As much as she was reluctant to hand Senor Bellamy back, having grown awfully fond of him already despite his whining, she needed that money, and she was sure his friends would be happy to hand over the swag of cash, as they couldn’t go on without the Senor, could they? Besides, she wanted him to get busy and make another album as much as any other fangirl. She _so_ looked forward to stealing it when it came out.

 

Lost in her happy plans for the future she had not noticed Matt was now awake. His eyes fluttered open and glanced around dopily, landing on the naked woman in the corner of the tent. His mind immediately cleared, a flush of heat reddening his cheeks as he studied her for the first time without layers of skirt, shirt and corset. Her back was turned, her long black hair curling almost to her waist. The nasty knife was still strapped to one shapely thigh and her arse- he gulped. He’d always been a sucker for a nice big, squeezable bottom and hers was perfect. He instantly imagined her on her knees with that arse in the air and his… _God damn it Matthew, stop it,_ he hissed to himself. _She’s a mental case and now is not a good time to get a fucking hard on._

The Bandit Queen turned sideways, rubbing the damp towel down her flat belly and between her thighs, unaware he was watching like a hawk. Her full breasts jiggled at the movement, her very chewable nipples raised from the cool water trickling down her chest. This time his gulp was audible and the woman’s feline eyes flicked in his direction, a small smile gracing her strong features as her green gaze locked with his blue.

 

In no hurry, pleased he was having a good ‘perv’ as he had put it earlier she wrapped the towel slowly around her midriff, hiding her loins and as much of her tits as could fit under the rough cotton, which wasn’t a lot. Finally she broke the thick silence in the stuffy tent, unable to resist discomforting him further since it was so fun to see him blush. “You look silly, Senor Bellamy, pants down like naughty boy getting spanking,” she chortled. “Let me help you.” She picked up her trusty pistol from her pile of discarded clothes and sauntered over, sitting down next to him on her own bed.

 

“Well, I could hardly pull them up myself with my fucking hands tied… oh shit, no-” Matt protested as the Bandit Queen snorted and pulled the offending garment down his legs and off, tossing it casually over her shoulder. Matt closed his eyes in sheer exasperation, realising he wasn’t going to get away with a mere blow job that night, she was after a lot more than that. Treacherously he felt his cock stir at the proposition, already swelling against his thigh under the woman’s intense scrutiny. But he had to admit, it _was_ rather flattering that she seemed to find him so sexy.

 

Continuing to hide behind his closed lids he tensed himself for the feel of her hands on him but she merely giggled and lay down, propping herself up on her side so she could continue to drink him in, his smooth skin so pale and translucent, so different from her own, his body so nicely shaped, face so beautifully pointy. She dearly wanted him to kiss her with that mouth, touch her with those elegant hands, throw her on her knees and take her roughly from behind but alas… he was her prisoner and must remain tied up, being entirely untrustworthy. “You sleep well?” she enquired politely, shaking her head to chase away the tempting thoughts.

 

Matt opened his eyes warily, relaxing when he saw she was in no rush to start groping him again. “I suppose, under the circumstances,” he said sulkily. “Listen, Bandit Queen or whatever your name is,” he went on, speaking rapidly to her poorly concealed tits and not her face. “Er, how long is this kidnap bollocks going to go on for because I’ve got a gig soon and-”

 

“We know this,” she interrupted. “Is important, no? Our men go find your compadres in morning, give them message. Worry not. You no like our company?” she pouted, sitting up and tossing her black hair as if offended.

 

“Yeah, it’s fucking brilliant being kidnapped, thrown over a horse and spanked, lassoed and molested,” her guest said acidly, really starting to get tired of her constantly speaking in the third person. It was like talking to a Mexican Queen Victoria. 

 

The Bandit Queen rolled her eyes, annoyed by yet more complaints. “You like very much being sucked off though,” she shot back, licking her lips in remembrance. “Taste better than tequila…want some?” she asked, picking up the forgotten bottle, hoping if he drunk some more it would stop his bitching. Still blinking at her crude but accurate comeback Matt merely nodded, and the woman again lifted his head with an arm and bending over his face fed him sips of the rough liquor like a baby, the musky scent of her near naked body filling his senses. His loins throbbed ominously and if the Bandit Queen had looked over her shoulder at that moment she would have been most impressed with what she found. He wheezed as the alcohol hit his stomach and she sat back, hitching the towel back over her breasts, which were making a bid for freedom, much to Matt’s interest. “You complain much, Senor,” she chided. “And we so kind to you…could be much worse, no?”

 

He muttered something polite in response, reluctantly having to agree, being at this woman’s mercy was preferable to being held by some hard, hairy bastards who might pull his fingernails for fun, or take an interest in his arse like the dude in the James Blunt t-shirt outside. And she was stunning and excellent at giving head…his mind was definitely beginning to warm to the concept of fucking her blind, it would be a way of keeping her sweet. Deliberately he turned his brown head towards her, letting his hooded eyes sweep up her body blatantly in what he knew was a way that drove women nuts. Much as it confused him, being a modest sort of chap, Matt was well aware that he had a devastating impact on certain females. One roll of his hips, one raised eyebrow or waggle of a single finger sent them into quivering wrecks. This particular female’s eyes widened, hesitating as she absorbed the sudden look of invitation. She lifted the bottle to her lips, taking a swig to steady her nerves. “You like the tequila?” she stuttered, trying to remain the gracious captor.

 

Sensing she was a bit rattled his unnoticed hard on urged Matt to go in for the kill. “It’s very nice. But I think it would taste better…” he paused, his voice a seductive purr, blue eyes piercing through the Bandit Queen’s shaky defenses “…if I licked it off your nipples.”

 

 _Jesucristo,_ she groaned to herself, a sudden burst of excitement gripping her loins like a vice and causing her to hunch over in her seat. “You…you very bad man, Senor Bellamy,” she breathed, delighted with her prisoner’s abrupt change in tune but suspicious. Given all the complaining he’d been doing she hadn’t expected him to crack so quickly. Matt smirked, confident she would drop the towel and pour the tequila over her tits immediately but the Bandit Queen then yawned widely, stretching her bare arms in the air and causing the towel to slip again. “ _Lo siento_ , we are tired, we sleep now,” she said mischievously, a dimple forming at the corner of her mouth, eyes dancing with mirth. “Also, we think maybe you not so good lover and would hate bad sex with you…would, how you say, kill our buzz?”

 

She was clearly taking the piss, but he was moved to defend himself, mildly peeved at her dismissal. “I don’t think so, woman,” he said darkly, blue eyes narrowing in pique. “Why don’t you stop having a laugh at my expense for five seconds and take that bloody towel off and I’ll show you you’re wrong.”

 

Struggling to hide her raging lust under a mask of polite indifference she shrugged, letting the towel fall from the slope of her breasts to her waist then raising herself on her knees to shed it entirely. The heat of his gaze was a powerful lure, and what lay stiff against his thigh, heavy and thick and swollen…dropping the mask she licked her lips in anticipation and moved to straddle his narrow form, sitting squarely on his belly. The bottle of tequila she snatched up, pouring it into her hand as Matt watched, feeling rather smug at that moment. The stinging liquid was carefully lifted to her left nipple, and she dripped it onto the tightened brown peak, then its twin. His hands balled into fists in response, protesting their entrapment, wishing they could caress and knead her ample flesh. Eyelids dropping in false modesty, the suddenly obliging woman leaned over him, pushing her tits in his face. With a pleased little grunt the now very horny man turned his head, sucking the nearest nipple into his mouth.

 

As his tongue swirled around the rigid peak and his teeth sunk firmly into her flesh the woman could do nothing but whine helplessly, a scorching flood of arousal taking charge of her body. With a sharp pull Matt freed her breast, only to turn to the other and as she watched his closed, sultry face buried in her chest the Bandit Queen slumped forwards, throaty murmurs in Spanish telling the imprisoned man that he may now have the upper hand. Her brown fingers twined in his rumpled hair, yanking his head closer to her sensitive nipples, encouraging their rough handling, the flesh reddening and swelling under the pressure of his petulant mouth. Finally with a groan the smothering woman wrenched herself free, the musician’s sharp teeth scraping viciously across the nipple in his grasp.

 

Their eyes locked, the Bandit Queen’s pupils dilating further as she took in the sea blue depths of his gaze, the inviting dart of his tongue across his thin lips, chasing a spare drop of liquor. Without asking she bent her head and took his mouth, encountering no resistance as her eager tongue pushed inside, twining with his deeply. Somewhere in the back of her mind she was cursing, her skin tingling as it slid across his silky torso, roles of captor and captive forgotten as they fell into the velvety madness of their kiss. She shifted on top of him, rubbing her now dripping loins against his hard cock, causing her prisoner to mutter curses in his throat, the obscene words spilling out as a command and she broke away from his lips to kiss his face feverishly. “Woman, stop pissing about and sit on my fucking cock. Now.”

 

The Bandit Queen raised her head and looked at Matt with hazy astonishment. She could not recall any man daring to tell her what to do in her life, especially one of her sniveling, pathetic captives. But there was nothing pathetic about Matt now- he was lying tense under her, hands clenched into threatening fists, back arched to press his groin firmly against hers. He looked like he was ready to break the ropes holding him down and pummel her into the ground and surprisingly, it was thrilling. She tried to look stern in response, forming her face into a scowl, but she was fooling no one. “Come on, bitch. I know you want it,” he dared to hiss.

 

Her lips parted in shock at the sexist taunt but her senses swirled, and immediately she slid a hand down between their tightly pressed bodies to grasp his twitching dick. “Didn’t your Madre tell you no talk to women so?” she gasped, digging her nails nastily into the shaft in her hand, chastising the man even as she moved to obey. “We could have you whipped… shoot you…oh fuck!” The now familiar swear word escaped her lips in a sharp cry as she pushed down onto his cock, gravity drawing her down as the thick heat filled her slowly. She stayed still once she had completely taken him in, shuddering and gasping as her body adjusted to the delicious impalement, her face contorted as if in pain.

 

A wave of tremendous satisfaction washed up Matt’s body at the sight of her so undone, the feel of her pussy so tight and slick he immediately wanted more, was gagging for her to untie him so he could flip her over and fuck her deep and swift. His strange host sighed sweetly and began to rock slowly back and forth, obviously savouring every long anticipated moment, her big green eyes fluttering open to gaze at him in wonder as his confined cock hit an undiscovered place deep inside her body. Dreamily her hands roamed his chest, then her own, encircling her weighty breasts, pinching at her own nipples and adding to the sensory overload Matt was experiencing. Kidnapped, tied up and fucked by a mad bandit fangirl with amazing tits, you couldn’t make it up- even for him, with his very colourful sex life, it was definitely a first. But it wasn’t enough, he wanted _his_ way, wanted to crack her hard shell entirely and claw back some power. “Ah… that’s good,” he murmured slyly. “You feel fantastic woman…so tight. But why don’t you untie me and I’ll show you what a proper fuck is, eh?”

 

“Shut up,” the Bandit Queen groaned, leaning forward to bite his lower lip in warning, her breath ragged on his face. “You talk too much…we enjoying ourselves…ooh… _puta madre!_ ” He was bucking his hips upwards now, forcing her to take him deeper and her eyes bulged, a high pitched whine growing in her throat. Irritatingly he began to speak again, persuasive words piercing the fog in her mind.

 

“I bet you want my fingers buried in you…they all want that…come on, crazy bird, untie me and I’ll finger fuck you raw.”

 

“You dirty bastardo,” she growled, a sudden fiery blush visible even on her dark skin as she fought to continue refusing, terribly turned on by the crude but tempting suggestion. “We not stupid…will not untie you! You try escape, then we won’t get to come.” Her movements over him had ceased as she became absorbed in their battle of wits, but his dick was a hot, solid presence inside her, and her loins ached horribly, craving some kind of release and soon.

 

Matt’s eyes widened innocently, the boyish pleading expression on his face causing the Bandit Queen to melt like butter, much to her self disgust. “I swear on my Glitter Manson I won’t try and do a runner. I want to fuck you, can’t you feel it? I wouldn’t get past the guards outside anyway…go on Senorita, be nice for once.”

 

“We are always nice,” she said weakly, eyes darting quickly to check for her gun on the ground. Satisfied it was within reach and making a mental note to get him to sign away her favourite guitar if he did try and escape she sighed and reached above his head, giving in to her nagging curiosity and screaming hormones. The knots were stiff and she tugged at them most impatiently, her tits smothering Matt’s face and cutting off his air, not that he minded. After a moment’s fumbling the ropes fell away and ignoring the ache in his deadened hands he immediately moved, grasping the woman’s waist and rolling her neatly on her back.

 

The Bandit Queen gave a startled squeak, he was stronger than he looked and she wasn’t sure whether she liked it. The pretty rock star had her securely pinned, his hands holding her fast to the tatty mattress. She wriggled experimentally, trying to get Matt to back off but as his cock was cleverly still inside her she only succeeded in making them both gasp lustfully. “No…don’t go,” she whined as he pulled out of her clasp, freeing her arms to slither down her prone body between her splayed thighs. He crouched there comfortably, letting his long fingers caress her glistening pink flesh, the heat rising from her frustrated loins goading him to explore thoroughly. She felt his lips press against her clit, then his tongue forming delicate patterns further down, tracing the shape of her folds before arriving at her centre, pushing briefly inside before snaking back up to dance over her hard nub. The resulting darts of pleasure caused her to convulse, her twitching turning to a veritable fit when those sinfully beautiful fingers pushed firmly inside her pussy, almost causing her pain they were thrust so deep.

 

The Bandit Queen went mad at that moment, eagerly raising her hips to take the rough penetration and force his tickling tongue to press harder. But he stayed just out of reach, fingers annoyingly motionless, teasing her wickedly with the mere tip of his tongue as he listened to her grumble and sob in Spanish, wishing he could understand the tirade of words other than the obvious ‘bastardo!’ Eventually he relented, feeling mildly guilty since she had done him a favour earlier and finding the taste of her so sweetly addictive. Abruptly he closed his mouth around her folds, tongue jabbing firmly against her clit as his hand moved rapidly in and out of her slippery depths. The woman sat bolt upright, catching his smug glance at her devastated face, then she fell to pieces, shrieking loud enough to wake her compadres outside as she came hard, her hands fisting the bedroll fiercely as the tremors of pleasure rocked her from head to foot.

 

When the woman fell backwards with a final strangled curse Matt sat up and grinned winningly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he leaned over her quivering form, ignoring her weak gestures of dismissal. She was so overcome she really needed a moment to gather her shattered wits and let her body subside a bit but it seemed unlikely. “Do you think I’m finished with you yet? No fucking way,” he said with great satisfaction. “Not so bossy now, eh?” He thought he heard some dire threats involving a horse whipping in response but he buried his face in her generous cleavage, taking mouthfuls of the honeyed flesh and tantalizing nipples greedily, his rock hard dick pressing rather insistently against her painfully sensitive mound.

 

Like any fangirl in this particular situation the Bandit Queen was suffering a complete meltdown. All self control had flown out the tent flap and she felt like she was down to one brain cell. She writhed and babbled, her hands roaming ceaselessly over his bony back, the natural urge to order him about swamped by the new and strange compulsion to let the Senor do what he wanted with her. As her hands reached his peachy bottom she was tempted to give him another spank to show she hadn’t surrendered entirely but at that moment he began to kiss her neck, teeth nipping the skin gently, hot breath searing, ice blue eyes glinting at her sneakily. He was humming quite happily under his breath as he mouthed her, the tune unrecognizable, but distinctly _his_ voice. It was the end. “Por favor…” she sighed. “Please Matt.”

 

“Si?” he replied cheekily, amazed at how much he was enjoying himself with this mental kidnapper, now a trembling wreck in his arms, her spectacular curves enfolding him comfortably, so soft and yielding and pleasingly helpless.

 

“We want…want your cock,” she begged, desperation in her sultry eyes, all dignity having fucked off some time ago. She could feel his answering smile when he kissed her, fitting against her parted lips, his mouth so sweetly demanding the blood fizzed in her veins and she only dimly registered he was busy arranging her slack limbs, pushing her legs up so they were bent at the knee and horizontal with the ground. He raised himself into a crouch and slotted his hips neatly between her thighs and as she lifted her head to see what he was up to he thrust forwards powerfully, sheathing himself within her searing, slippery embrace in one skilled movement. It knocked the breath from her lungs, an incredible jolt of ecstasy that did not fade, only grew hotter and hotter. He felt so huge and so deep it hurt her, but the only word to escape her lips after she began to take in air was “more.”

 

Grasping her waist to hold her contorted frame flush with his driving hips, Matt hissed between clenched teeth, obliging and giving her more, ramming every inch of his cock past her tense walls, testing her limits and finding she fit him like a lock. “God…so fucking good,” he growled at the sobbing woman. “I’m gonna pound you into the fucking ground you fucking…” He paused, circling his hips whilst buried to the hilt, causing her eyes to widen to saucers. “Fucking kidnapping, molesting…” he began to thrust so nastily her tits bounced at each movement, back arching off the mattress , sobs turning into screams, “…delicious bitch.”

 

The earth shattering impact of his bruising assault and the sight of his twisted face looming over her, that familiar beauty of glacial eyes, strong bones and perfectly cruel lips, now caught between his teeth as he fucked her harder than she’d ever been fucked in her life, it was killing her. Insanity awaited as her battered body raced up the dizzying heights of agonised pleasure, closer to the plunge into darkness…too close, she never ever wanted it to end. But all she could say that Matt could understand was “more”, the rest of her delighted cries and weak pleas for him to slow down were in her own language, so he did not stop, his orgasm moments away from his grasp. He bent her further backwards, legs now pointing to the heavens as he twisted his hips with a groan, the woman’s face now a blurry vision of tangled hair, swollen lips and tortured eyes. A tightening in his balls urged him on and his pace increased, slapping his pelvis forcibly against her arse as she jerked upwards in rhythm, clearly loving being beaten from the inside.

 

Then he heard her scream shatteringly, felt the rippling pulse of her body closing around his dick. “Gah! Fucking hell yes… come, you bossy bitch… yes.” He spat at her, delighting in her expression as she dissolved, face blank and empty and the whites of her eyes showing, the scream replaced by a long death-like groan. And then it hit him too, like a runaway horse, his own face screwing up like paper, teeth drawing blood from his lower lip as he emptied into her, thick come spilling in a flood as he groaned and gasped and blinked stupidly.

 

When every last drop had gone he loosened his pinching grip on her thighs, letting the Bandit Queen slump to the ground but staying buried in her body, both of them still shaken by aftershocks. Her much loved tits made a comfortable pillow and Matt dozed there for several minutes, knackered but undoubtedly blissful. The woman did not stir, long lashes fanned out over her cheeks, her breath quiet between her ripe, well chewed lips. Worried that he had somehow killed her he brushed several stray curls away from her face, checking to see whether she was sleeping or dead. There was no answering flicker in her quiet features- she was out for the count. As much as he had enjoyed every second of their mental shagfest, and oh he _had_ , now may be the right moment to… Stealthily Matt pulled free from her body and sat up, looking around for his forgotten clothes.

 

She floated somewhere about the hard bed, in a soft dense cloud, nerves firing under her sweaty skin, so wonderfully raw and broken she could not move, could not even lift her hands to stroke his shaggy hair. However she immediately noticed when he got up, one eye cracking open in suspicion to check what he was up to. Continuing to play dead she watched the naked man fumbling around the tent, gathering up his clothes, her contentment evaporating to be replaced by all too familiar exasperation. She let him get as far as the door, his grubby clothes and boots piled in his arms as he stupidly made to creep outside and do a bolt into the desert.

 

Swift as a rattlesnake she snatched her gun from the ground, fatigue vanishing in an instant as she cocked it and pointed it squarely at his backside. At the ominous click Matt froze, turning slowly to confront the source of the noise, a highly sheepish grin plastered on his face. The Bandit Queen was on her knees, all naked limbs, wild hair and white teeth, smiling sardonically behind the barrel of the loaded gun.

 

“We don’t think so, Senor Bellamy.” 


	4. Chapter 4

Dom awoke from his borderline unconscious drunken slumber with an incoherent oath at the arrestingly loud pounding coming from the other side of his hotel room door. After a one-sided struggle with what seemed like several acres of luxurious bedding, he half climbed/half fell from the mattress with a muttered but discernible “fucking fuckers” and lurched to the offending entrance.

 

Wrenching said door open, he scowled ferociously at his sleep-depriving adversary, opening his mouth to launch forth a torrent of abuse, but was pre-empted. “My eyes. My eyes!” A familiar voice exclaimed. “For pity’s sake, Dominic! You could’ve put a robe on.”

 

Finally registering who was responsible for this monstrous crime against him, Dom flicked a hand dismissively and turned back toward his bed. “Suck it up, Wolstenholme. Not like you haven’t seen it before.” He negotiated his way back under the covers with difficulty and only deigned to address Chris, who had followed him inside and closed the door, again once he was comfortably settled. “Now. What. The. Fuck?”

 

Chris rolled his eyes and threw himself over the end of the bed, deliberately squishing Dom’s legs in the process, and responded. “That doesn’t mean I’ve any need at all to see it again, you exhibitionist bastard.” Noticing Dom’s eyes were closed, he poked him sharply. “Are you paying attention to me?”

 

Groaning, Dom tried to roll away, eyes flying open in alarm when he discovered he couldn’t. “Why can’t I twatting well move my legs?” He demanded.

 

“Because I’m lying on them. Christ, you must still be half-cut,” Chris despaired. “Well, you’d best sober up quick. Matt is still missing. God only knows what could’ve happened to Ziggy Stardust in 24 hours-”

 

“Wait. Wait! What’re you on about?” Dom asked dopily as he pushed feebly at Chris to try and get him off his legs. “Bells isn’t missing. He goes on his little solo jaunts, but he hasn’t done a long disappearing act in years. Have you checked his room?”

 

Getting to his feet abruptly, Chris stared at Dom as if he’d suddenly expressed a desire to collaborate with Radiohead. “Of course I’ve checked his room, you daft prick. He wasn’t in it. His bed wasn’t slept in. He hasn’t been seen since he stormed off in a fit of geeky pique at breakfast yesterday morning. He. Is. _Missing_ ,” Chris hissed.

 

“Alright. I get it,” Dom said huffily. He rubbed his face and ran his hands agitatedly through his hair. “Let’s calm down and look at this logically. I mean, come on, it’s _Matt_. I said it last night and I’ll say it again. He’s charmed his way under the skirt of a local senorita and is lying in a shagged-out coma in a room above a taco shop somewhere.”

 

Smiling despite himself at this, Chris nevertheless shook his head. “No. No. If he’d met someone he’d have bought them back here. He knows better than to go to a stranger’s place in an unfamiliar country these days. And if he had, he’d have found a phone and called to let us know. Kirky always remembers to put a list of contact numbers and some small change in the local currency in his wallet when we go somewhere new.” He stopped and sighed heavily. “This is bad, Dommers. He could be in real trouble. Mexico has a dodgy rep for a reason. What are we going to do?”

 

Chris looked so genuinely worried Dom decided not to protest further, but he was finding it hard to believe that Matt was in any danger. Matt was… well, he was _Matt_. Bad things didn’t happen to him. Still, just where was he? He went to climb out of bed with a tad more dignity this time, but was foiled as a heavy cotton robe was thrown in his face, knocking him back on booze-sodden legs. “Oof!” Removing the offensive weapon, he gave Chris the evil eye. “You could’ve just handed it to me.”

 

“Never mind the niceties, girl pants. Get dressed and come with me. It’ll take two of us to rouse Tom, who I daresay is passed out atop the huge pile of cash he fleeced from us last night.” Chris grabbed a now robed Dom and steered him towards the bathroom, “Just the small faff bag today, please. Matt’s been gone for a whole day and we have a gig tomorrow. We need to find him. Now.”

 

Choosing not to rise to the ‘faff bag’ dig, Dom nodded. “I’ll meet you outside Tom’s room in ten minutes.” At Chris’ skeptically raised eyebrow, he grudgingly conceded, “Okay, twenty minutes. We’ll figure out what to do from there. Now, would you kindly piss off?”

 

***

 

They’d corralled Tom with a mixture of threats (Dom) and physical intimidation (Chris) and all three were now in the hotel restaurant, Dom and Tom claiming they needed a greasy fry-up to help them think.

 

Tom was conflicted. The overwhelming urge to burst out laughing at the lunacy of the situation was battling with the scary thought of the astonishing amount of shit he’d be in with the suits if _he_ was the one to lose Matt _Money-Spinning Musical Genius_ Bellamy the day before the first concert of the tour. He ate a sausage slowly and sighed wearily. Life was never straightforward with this lot.

 

“Would you please eat faster, unfeeling swines?” Chris requested impatiently. “Your best friend could be bleeding in a ditch somewhere and you two stop for a full English. Unbelievable!”

 

“Chill, Chrissy,” Tom soothed. “A few minutes isn’t going to make much difference at this stage, and you want us at full mental capacity, don’t you?”

 

“Shut it, you,” Chris snapped. “Even at full mental capacity, you’re still a half-wit. Now, I had the concierge contact the driver that took Matt out yesterday while I was waiting for you, Dom. He said he ‘dropped Senor Bellamy off as instructed’, but when he went to collect him at the appointed time he was nowhere to be found. Naturally assuming Matt had a mobile with him, he figured he’d gotten bored early and called someone to come and get him, so he left it at that. He got paid either way, so it was no skin off his nose.”

 

Dom was suitably chastened by this. Matt didn’t own a mobile. And that village he was nerding about was in the middle of nowhere. It wasn’t feasible for him to have walked back into Monterrey. Still, it was _Matt_. He’d probably blundered into a pillar and knocked himself out for a while, and was most likely waiting out there now, throwing a hissy fit that no one had come to get him yet. Bad things didn’t happen to Matt, but _stupid_ things did. Shuddering at the perfectly-realised ‘Matt Rampage’ scene that popped into his head when he thought about their eventual reunion, Dom stopped short and turned concerned eyes on Chris. “Fuck. Even if he’s still out there and nothing sinister’s happened to him, he’ll still have been without food and, more importantly, water for 24 hours. You know he wouldn’t’ve taken jack with him. All he’ll have is his ludicrous cowboy hat. And it’s so bloody hot. Shit, Bells could be in a bad way. We need to go. Now.” And Dom dropped his knife and fork and jumped to his feet.

 

“About freaking time,” Chris exclaimed. “Finally, the appropriate level of concern.” He stood up as well, and they both stared down at Tom, who was swiping a piece of bread through the dregs of egg yolk on his otherwise empty plate. “So sorry to disturb your breakfast, Mr. Kirk, sir, but are you fucking well coming?” Chris enquired in a frighteningly polite tone of voice.

 

“Aye. Of course,” Tom replied meekly, avoiding Chris’ eye as he pushed his chair back roughly and headed toward the lobby. “I’ll arrange a car,” he called over his shoulder as he scuttled away, two-thirds of Muse glaring daggers at his back.

 

***

 

Half an hour later, all three of them were in the same car that had taken Matt the day before, Tom isolated in the front passenger seat as Chris wasn’t talking to him. He stared out the window broodily. _Of course_ he was worried about Matt, but he was also still half drunk/half hung over and food helped him think! Plus he still wasn’t convinced that Matt was ‘in peril’. He was unpredictable and easily distracted. If something caught his eye he’d follow it until he got bored, with scant regard for the passing of time or responsibilities to others. Admittedly, he’d improved vastly in that regard over the years, but he hadn’t changed _that_ much.

 

“How much further?” Chris broke his silence to ask the driver.

 

“Ten minutes, Senor,” he replied.

 

Chris thanked him and turned to Dom anxiously. “What the hell do we do if he’s not there, Dommy?”

 

Dom gave a bewildered shrug. “Buggered if I know. Let’s just see what we find and we’ll think about it if we have to, okay?”

 

“Okay,” Chris sighed in resignation as he settled back in his seat. “Oi, Kirk,” he addressed Tom directly for the first time since the hotel restaurant. “Does the crew know there’s a problem? What’d you tell Anderson?”

 

Swiveling in his seat, thrilled to be acknowledged again, Tom eagerly explained, “The crew is in a state of blissful ignorance. They wouldn’t expect to see Bells until tomorrow anyway. And I told Anderson we were all sightseeing for the day and not to expect us back until late. But he didn’t seem to have noticed Matt wasn’t about yesterday to start with.”

 

“Well, that’s something at least,” Chris said in a slightly warmer tone. “We don’t need anyone else involved unless absolutely necessary. They’ll just panic.” He kept quiet for the remainder of the journey, while Dom fiddled nervously with his aviators and Tom pondered whether to start panicking himself.

 

“This where I leave Senor Bellamy,” the driver spoke up a short while later as he bought the car to a halt at the edge of the ruined village that had gotten Matt so excited. “Foolish to come here alone, but he no seem to care. Go figure.”

 

“Yes. Thinking things through’s never been his strong point,” Chris muttered as he opened his door. “If you could wait here for us, we’ll be back soon.”

 

“Si,” the driver replied easily. He flipped the radio on and the resulting Mexican pop music had Dom and Tom vacating the vehicle with alacrity. Laughing, he made himself comfortable, “Gringos!”

 

Sharing a sheepish look, they joined an impatient Chris and headed towards the centre of the ruins, all three castings around for any sign of Matt.

 

“Bells!” Dom called at the top of his voice. “Bells, are you here? Come on, man, show yourself. We’re worried.”

 

There was no response. Dom turned to Chris, at a loss. “Matthew James Bellamy!” Chris bellowed. “If this is one of your little tricks, I swear to God you’ll be playing tomorrow’s gig from a fucking wheelchair. After you’ve been on the phone to Hugh, your Bomber Manson having met with a mysterious accident. Now give us a sign of where you are.”

 

Silence but for the rustling of the wind in the stunted vegetation.

 

Tom was looking seriously spooked now. “Shit, this place is well creepy. Maybe it was enough to finally push Matt over the edge. He could be in that temple over there,” he waved a hand at a large structure at the village’s edge, “convinced he’s a Mayan deity. I bet that’s why he’s not answering. Gods probably only communicate with high priests.”

 

“Stop babbling, you simple-minded tit,” Chris ordered in exasperation, wiping his sweat soaked forehead. “Maybe he’s not answering because he _can’t._ Did you ever think of-”

 

“Oi!” Dom interrupted harshly. “Stop your bitching, fishwives.” Rolling his eyes as he received two wounded looks, he went on, “If you’d care to cast your eyes this way,” he indicated in the direction of the temple Tom had seen previously. “See anything out of the ordinary?” Dom asked significantly.

 

Swinging around, Chris immediately spotted what had caught Dom’s eye. “Fucking J.R! It’s Matt’s loser hat.” He bounded the couple of hundred metres separating them, Dom and Tom jogging in his wake, and grabbed the white cowboy hat off the dusty ground.

 

Turning it over in his hands confusedly, he looked at Dom. “If that little twat is messing with me, I will-”

 

“Senor Bellamy no ‘messing with you’, amigos,” a low, sinister voice smoothly interjected. “In fact, Senor Bellamy in whole world of trouble if you not play ball.”

 

Dropping the hat in shock, Chris’ head jerked around in search of the words’ source, gaping in disbelief at what he found. A large, swarthy, mustachioed man in a sombrero and tattered James Blunt t-shirt (Chris had to look twice before this randomness registered properly) had appeared just behind them.

 

Finding his voice with difficulty, Chris addressed the stranger with as much bravado as his scattered wits allowed. “Who the fuck are _you_ , mate? And that’s _my_ ‘tache you’re sporting.”

 

“Yeah,” Tom bristled beside him. “And how do you know our friend’s name? He’s not known to associate with people with such atrocious taste in music.”

 

Pedro’s eyes passed over Tom dismissively, moved to Dom, who he looked up and down lasciviously before giving a flirty wink, much to Dom’s horror, and finally settled on Chris, clearly the brains of the operation and consequently the only one worth talking to. Though he wouldn’t mind a private word with the small, blonde one in the tight trousers later. If _he_ was the Bandit Queen, he’d have kidnapped _him_.

 

“My name no important. You should be more worried about my boss.” He pointed to the hat at Chris’ feet. “My boss leave behind when Senor Bellamy kidnapped yesterday. You wish to see more than Senor Bellamy’s hat again, you pay. A lot,” Pedro finished with an evil smile.

 

“Kidnapped!” Tom exclaimed with a snort. “Matt’s been kidnapped?! Oh, this is classic.” He turned to Dom with mirth-filled eyes. “Dommers, can’t you see the headline in the _NME_ already? ‘Muse Legend Matt Bellamy Held Hostage by Mexican Bandits’!” And he doubled over in hysterics.

 

Dom looked like he didn’t know what to think, but then a slow, face-splitting grin settled upon him. “Forget the _NME_. We can make the front page of _The Sun_ with this. Tabloid-fucking-gold!”

 

“For the love of Christ!” Chris roared, turning his back on Pedro to glare at the others in disgust. “This is not a fucking joke. Take it seriously or-”

 

A quiet clicking sound immediately drew all their attentions and three sets of eyes swiveled to take in the silver pistol being pointed their way. “Your friend wise, senors,” Pedro breathed placidly. “This no laughing matter.”

 

Chris swallowed heavily, but couldn’t resist sending Dom and Tom an ‘I told you so, dinguses’ look. “Ignore those two. There’s only the one functioning brain cell shared between them. _I’m_ listening,” he addressed Pedro calmly. “What do we have to do to get Matt back? Tell us and it’ll happen.”

 

“This more like it,” the bandit said happily. “Is simple. You back here in six hours with ransom and if all cool you get your Bellamy back unharmed.” Chris let out a premature sigh of relief and Pedro swiftly directed the pistol at his forehead before he got too relaxed. “However. If you involve pig dog police or try swindle us you get your Bellamy back… _in pieces_.”

 

“Si!” Chris replied speedily, terror-filled eyes transfixed on the gun’s barrel. Dom and Tom had definitely sobered up now. “How… How much d’you want?’

 

“One hundred thousand Pesos,” Pedro announced dramatically. He looked a little stunned at the idea of such a grand sum of money. “Senor Bellamy worth much to you, si? Cannot play tomorrow without him.”

 

At Dom’s raised eyebrow, Pedro smirked. “Yes, we know you have gig soon, pretty one.” Dom shuffled further behind Chris at the compliment, Tom guffawing at his expense. “My boss know you be most anxious not to disappoint fans. She clever.”

 

“She? _She_?!” Dom blurted, peering around Chris’ shoulder incredulously. “The person in charge of this madness is a woman?”

 

“Bandit Queen most definitely woman. She no called Bandit _King_ for a reason,” Pedro answered, nonplussed at Dom’s obvious shock.

 

Dom carefully stepped out from behind Chris, but kept a wary distance from the bandit’s menacing form. “This Bandit Queen… Is she attractive?” He questioned.

 

“Si,” Pedro enthused. “Bandit Queen most beautiful. If you like that sort of thing,” he leered, Dom taking a hasty step back. “She have very fine bosom and lovely round arse. All _other_ bandits in love with her. But she only fancy ‘little, pointy men’, so ‘you big, hairy bandit bastards shit out of luck’, Bandit Queen say.” He waved his pistol airily. “So, we done here, compadres?”

 

Giving Dom an odd look, Chris nodded emphatically. “Yes. One hundred thousand Pesos. Back here in six hours. No pig dog police. No double-dealing. We just want our friend back. You won’t get any trouble from us.”

 

“Would be nice change. Senor Bellamy trouble enough as it is,” Pedro muttered darkly. “So, you all face other way and no look back for one minute.” On receiving three blank looks, he tutted in exasperation and cocked the gun again. “Turn around while I leave, gringos.”

 

“Oh!” Tom exclaimed. “I see. Come on, you two. Do as the beweaponed gentleman says.” He rotated quickly on the spot, Dom and Chris hurriedly following suit.

 

They stood in silence for a good three minutes before Chris finally risked a glance behind him. Upon finding the area deserted, he turned to Dom and demanded, “What the bloody hell was _that_ all about? You’re lucky you didn’t get us all shot in the kneecaps!”

 

Scoffing, Dom shook his head. “I doubt we were in any real danger. And neither is Matt. Except maybe of his dick falling off from overuse. Did you not hear that? A beautiful, big breasted, round arsed woman with obvious aggressive tendencies who likes small, pointy men? I guarantee you he’ll have fucked her rotten by now.” Dom looked a bit jealous.

 

“Dominic James Howard!” Chris stuttered. “Matt has been kidnapped and held ransom by armed criminals. He is _not_ going to shag the woman responsible and you are _not_ supposed to look like you wouldn’t mind swapping places with him!”

 

Tom made a thoughtful noise. “He may have a point, Chrissy. Matt _is_ a sexual deviant. He’d get off on it. And if the bird’s up for a tumble, I can’t see her harming him. Know what I think though?” They both shrugged. “I reckon she sounds like a fan. Knows who he is. Knows the tour schedule. Knows we’d hate to have to cancel. Fancies pointy men. It all adds up. To a horny fangirl desperate to get inside Matt’s pants.” Tom crossed his arms over his chest as if this closed the subject.

 

“Bollocks,” Dom derided. “Our fans can be a bit _too_ devoted, but there is just no way one of them would do this to us. These bandits simply heard a rich rock star was coming to town and took a chance.” He smirked. “Bet this Bandit Queen had _no idea_ what she was letting herself in for.”

 

Offended that his idea had been shot down with so little consideration, Tom pointed a provocative finger at Dom and mulishly asked, “How much do you want to bet, Howard?”

 

Chris threw his hands up in despair and, ignoring the both of them, turned and started making his way back to the waiting car. He could _not_ believe these two bastards.

 

The glint in Dom’s eye confirmed he was up for a little wager. “You’re that convinced?” At Tom’s nod, he straightened. “Fine, Mr. Kirk, you’re on. I’ll even let you name the punishment if I lose.”

 

Rubbing his hands together in fiendish anticipation, Tom cocked his head to the side as he contemplated something suitably mortifying. He cackled manically as it came to him. “I’ve got it. That MTV Asia award we’re up for. If we win, you’ve to dress up like a cowboy, you can borrow Matt’s hat,” he indicated where it had once more been abandoned in the dust, “and do lots of random things with the award in the acceptance video. Like… Like dancing with it and crap. Putting it to bed. I want people to be like ‘What the fuck is he on?’” Tom finished excitedly.

 

“Whatever,” Dom agreed blithely, seemingly unconcerned, “And if _you_ lose?”

 

So confident was he of victory, Tom promised the first thing that occurred to him. “I’ll go out on stage at the Dublin show wearing Matt’s glitter pants. That is if he didn’t actually throw them out after the shit we gave him. If he did, I’ll wear your green skinnies.” He raised an eyebrow and extended a hand to Dom. “Deal?”

 

Shaking the proffered hand, Dom giggled. “Deal, Kirky. Though I don’t think either pair will fit you. Which makes it even better!” He scooped up Matt’s battered hat and began to follow in Chris’ footsteps, Tom joining him. “Matt’s not going to be pleased,” he stated casually.

 

 “Well _obviously._ When we get him back he’ll be a right strop,” Tom agreed. “But is there anything in particular he’s not going to be pleased about?”

 

“His ransom. It only equates to about five thousand quid in Pounds,” Dom explained gleefully. “The bandits mustn’t know the exchange rate.”

 

Sniggering, they went to find Chris and a cash machine.


	5. Chapter 5

The Bandit Queen sighed dreamily as Matt adjusted his grip on her waist from his place behind her in the horse’s saddle, pulling himself tighter against her warm back as one hand gripped the flare of her hip and the other splayed comfortably below her breasts. Trotting sedately through the desert on her trusty steed with this beautiful man’s face buried in her hair and skilled groin pressed against her arse, the prospect of a fucking great wedge of Pesos waiting for her, she’d never been happier.

 

She hadn’t been quite so happy in the early hours of that morning, roused from her post-orgasmic stupor by Matt’s _pathetic_ escape attempt. Smiling to herself at the feebleness of it, she reflected on the aftermath as they made their way slowly to the rendezvous point, her fellow bandits trailing in her horse’s wake…

 

_Matt promptly dropped his bundled clothes to the floor on being rumbled and took a tentative step back towards her. Flashing her an embarrassed grimace, he asked, “Would you believe me if I said I was just going to see if I could find a blindfold and some honey?”_

_Shaking her head in disappointment, the Bandit Queen laid herself back down on the bed roll, back towards him, gropable arse well presented, the pistol still clutched in her hand resting against one lean thigh. Without even bothering to look at him, she quietly said, “You break your promise, Senor Bellamy. We most upset. The Bandit Queen both unties you and gives you good fuck and you still try to escape. Is rude.”_

_He was surprised to discover he actually felt a little guilty. He **had** promised, and was being here really such a terrible hardship? She was an exceptional lay and his cock for one was **so** up for going there again, but she’d **kidnapped** him! It was the principle of the thing. Matt’s masculine pride couldn’t take the fact that he’d been so spectacularly outmaneuvered by a half-wild Mexican fangirl. Still, what did he care about more? His stupid male ego, or getting his hands on that arse again? He looked at it keenly, trying to ignore the gun. No contest. He’d apologise. And it’d do those other gits good to worry about him for a while. They didn’t appreciate him. Matt would stay here having an epic shagfest until they paid through the nose to get him back. When you thought about it, it **was** pretty fucking funny._

_Moving back to where the Bandit Queen lay in stony silence, he eased himself down to lie beside her, curling his naked form around her until his entire body was flush with hers, his lips lurking at the exposed line of her neck. Matt kept his hands to himself for now, breathing huskily into her skin, “I’m sorry, Bandit Queen. You’re right. I broke my promise and that was rude of me. I won’t try it again.” He lightly flicked his tongue out to taste her, smiling as he felt her give a tiny shudder in response. “What can I do to make it up to you?”_

_The Bandit Queen sighed in resignation, but was secretly delighted at his apparent regret. And after the ecstasy she’d just experienced, there was **no** way she wasn’t going to let him take her again. Trying to maintain her cold demeanour, she huffed and placed the gun on the ground beside her. “You lucky you so pretty, Senor. Bandit Queen would no put up with this behaviour from anyone else.” She turned abruptly to face him, taking Matt by surprise. “You wish to apologise in some way? Then play song for me.”_

_Face contorting in horror, Matt shook his head in firm denial, but risked running a hand over the Bandit Queen’s hip and down to her soft buttocks. “Not happening. I don’t do acoustic and I **never** play in front of a small group of people if I can help it, let alone for just one person. Think of something else.” His hand squeezed gently before running up her spine. “Besides, why can’t you go to the gig like a normal fan?”_

_Frowning as the notion of Matt performing ‘Sunburn’ just for her was mercilessly quashed, the Bandit Queen shot the pointily arresting face inches from her own a look of pouty disillusionment. “The Bandit Queen does not pay for **anything**. And we no mercenary enough to steal tickets from someone and spoil their excitement to see Muse for first time. Fine. You no play for me, you give me red sparkly guitar instead. Is favourite and matches my corset.”_

_Snorting in appreciation of her audacity, Matt ran his hand into her long dark tresses and used it to guide her until she was lying beneath him once more. Resting his chin against her shoulder, his blue eyes were warm as he gigglingly told her, “Sorry, love. That’s not going to happen either. You see, it’s **my** favourite too.” _

_His gaze turned predatory as a beguiling hand cupped one full breast, teasingly rubbing the nipple against his palm and his lips moved to hover over her glistening, half-open mouth. “Let’s try again, shall we?” He took her full bottom lip between his teeth and sucked, causing the Bandit Queen to raise her head in a silent request for more. Releasing it, he took in her dilated pupils and felt the rapid beating of her heart under his hand and grinned smugly. “What.” He kissed her roughly, tongue darting into her mouth all too briefly. “Can I.” His mouth was at her ear, biting the lobe. “Do to.” It moved down to lick wetly along her collarbone. “Make it.” His lips were millimetres from hers once more, placing a butterfly kiss at the corner. “Up to you?” And he ravished her mouth as his slim hips ground down against her and his delicate fingers tweaked her rosy nipple._

_Moaning, the Bandit Queen bucked her hips keenly upwards and finally lifted her arms, wrapping them tightly around Matt’s neck. She tore her mouth from his with a gasp of longing, roused beyond belief by **everything** this odd little man did. She wanted him to have her. Anyway he wanted. Right now. “Senor Bellamy,” she panted, “you one horny fucker. Get Bandit Queen all worked up. Make up to me by burying face between legs, si? We’ll see where we go from there.” And giggling, Matt did just that._

 

The Bandit Queen stirred from her reverie as they jolted over some particularly rough ground, Matt still relaxed, half-asleep, against her back. He was exhausted, unsurprisingly, and had found it quite a challenge to haul himself up on to the horse. They had fucked through the night and on and off during the day, stopping for the occasional power nap, reviving slug of tequila, bite of food and the need to attend to pressing bodily functions. Matt had nearly fallen over in shock when he’d emerged naked from the tent to go for a piss and been treated to a loud round of applause and whooping from the sentry bandits stationed just outside. Flushing in embarrassment as he realised they would have heard everything that had gone on under the thin canvas, he ducked straight back inside, bladder forgotten. Growling in annoyance when he found the Bandit Queen thrashing around on the ground in hysterics at his flustered state, he’d pounced, rolling her onto her stomach, pulling her on to her hands and knees and taking her roughly from behind, modesty abandoned in the need to retaliate. She’d screamed long and loud as she came and Matt just had time to wonder whether she’d be having the piss taken out of _her_ later before he passed out after his fourth orgasm in the last twelve hours.

 

At one point, they’d been a scratching at the tent flap and the Bandit Queen had pulled on her shirt and wrapped the towel around her waist to go and talk to whoever it was, Matt perving idly at her legs as she walked away. When she returned, she smiled at Matt sprawled naked on the mattress, eyes half-lidded in weariness. “You no have to put up with this _terrible_ torture much longer, Senor Bellamy. Pedro has spoken with your friends and arranged ransom exchange for this afternoon. He say only one take situation seriously. But he was keen on ‘little, blonde one with big, grey eyes’ and wondered if you’d put in good word for him.” Matt had laughed so hard he’d cried, unable to form a coherent sentence for a good ten minutes, as the Bandit Queen sat down and enjoyed the show.

 

Thrilling at the thought of the last day, the Bandit Queen reached a hand behind her to squeeze Matt’s arse and he stirred groggily against her neck. “Is no so awful to be kidnapped by Bandit Queen, is it Senor Bellamy?” She teased. “Treat you nice. Attend to your _needs_.” The hand snaked around to brush against his _outstanding_ cock. “We think you lucky little man.”

 

Groaning, Matt straightened in the saddle with difficulty and snorted. “I don’t know, woman. I think you’ve sprained my dick. And I can barely move. Still, you may have a point. I’m weirdly reluctant to go back. Wouldn’t mind being kidnapped for a while longer. It’s pretty hot, actually.”

 

Laughing throatily, the Bandit Queen shook her head, her black silk hair brushing pleasantly against Matt’s face. “No, no, Senor. Bandit Queen needs money for donkey farm and you must not disappoint fans. Plus, cannot make new album to please world and we if apart from band mates. Must go separate ways.” Her voice turned small, almost vulnerable. “But you remember Bandit Queen, si?”

 

“Si,” Matt agreed quietly, stroking her arm comfortingly. “You’re hard to forget, darling. Feel free to kidnap me again next time I’m in town though.”

 

“We promise,” the Bandit Queen said softly. “Would be pleasure, Matt.”

 

***

 

It was approaching four o’clock in the afternoon, and still scorchingly hot, as Dom, Chris and Tom returned yet again to the ruined Mayan village in the same car with the same driver. He hadn’t asked and they hadn’t told.

 

After returning to Monterrey that morning, they’d found a money machine and used various cards to withdraw the maximum amount until it had run out of notes, before moving on to the next one, accumulating cash until they had the required one hundred thousand Pesos, Tom having grudgingly donated his winnings from the night before to add to the kitty. That amount of money had proved quite unwieldy, so they’d bought a bag at a market and taken turns keeping a death grip on it as they stooged about town wasting time before they had to go back for the exchange, avoiding the hotel for fear of running into someone who would ask after Matt.

 

Universally overheated, tired and grouchy, even Chris had given up being worried about Matt’s safety, the other two never having started. Dom was outraged at the idea of having to pay to get Matt back when he’d probably been having torrid sex with a commanding, _creative_ Mexican hottie for the last day or so, and various revenge scenarios had been running through his mind all afternoon. One thing was for sure. He was sodding well going to pay them back!

 

The car came to a stop and they looked up in surprise, all having been lost in an attack of the emos. Throwing the doors open, they tumbled from the vehicle, Chris calling over his shoulder to the driver to wait please, clutching the ransom bag in his hand. They grumpily shuffled their way back to where they’d encountered the bandit with the crush on Dom earlier, keeping a wary eye out, but the place was deserted. Clearly, they were early. Shrugging, Tom promptly sat down in the dust. Chris and Dom did the same and they stared around in silence until Chris finally spoke up. “Has it occurred to anyone else just how _fucking ridiculous_ this whole thing is? Only Bellamy. This sort of thing would only ever happen when he was involved. Matt is-”

 

“D’you hear that?” Dom butted in. “Sounds like a shit load of horses headed this way!”

 

“I swear, if I get interrupted _one more time_ today…” Chris muttered under his breath as they all got to their feet and looked in the direction the steadily increasing noise was coming from.

 

At first all they could see was a great cloud of dust kicked up by the horses’ hooves, but things began to clear as the animals slowed. There were about ten all together, and at the front, a magnificent black stallion, which, they could only assume, had the Bandit Queen mounted on his back. The other riders seemed to be slightly varied versions of the James Blunt bandit, who was just to the female’s right. Tom let out a low whistle as he took in the Bandit Queen’s heaving bosom, honey-toned skin and striking face. “Jammy bastard,” he breathed to Dom. “Where is he, anyway?”

 

Just as he asked, the stallion pranced to the side, and the figure perched behind the Bandit Queen was exposed. It was Matt. Clothes crumpled and dirty, hair a deranged mop, body slumped in an exhausted heap. But he had his arms clasped tightly around the woman in front of him’s waist. And the biggest, _shit-eating_ grin of smug sexual satisfaction positively lighting up his face. Cursing volubly, Chris shook his head in utter disbelief. “You were bloody right,” he admitted to Dom. Turning to Matt, he rhetorically asked, “What is _wrong_ with you, Bellamy?” He struggled not to laugh as Matt gave an unrepentant shrug. “Slut. We’ll be having words later, young man. Just you wait.”

 

The Bandit Queen, meanwhile, was struggling to tame her inner fangirl as she excitedly took in Dom and Chris. Wow, this was cool. Muse! She sized Dom up with a critical eye and had to agree with Pedro that he was indeed gorgeous, but she still preferred Matt. Chris looked like a lovely, kind, warm man, but with a moustache and sombrero, he could pass for one of her compadres, so she didn’t fancy him. Not sure who the other man was, who, though handsome, was far too hairy for her tastes, the Bandit Queen finally blurted out, “Is so, _so_ wonderful to meet you, senors! We love your music very much. Makes us mucho happy.”

 

“Aha!” Tom crowed in triumph. “I _knew_ it! Fan girl.” He gave Dom an evil smile. “Ready to go cowboy, Dommy?”

 

Dom opened his mouth to fire out a retort when Matt finally spoke up. “Shut up and give the woman her money, fools. Or don’t you want me back?”

 

“Not particularly,” Dom drawled. “But since we’re here, I _suppose_ we should take you with us. If we could put on a concert without you though, we would. Just remember that, Bells.” He poked Chris, who’d just noticed that _all_ the bandits had his ‘tache, “The cash, Chrissy.”

 

“What?” Chris asked vaguely, enthralled by the fine facial hair on display. Dom pointed a finger at the bag in his hand and he caught on. “Oh! Yeah, the ransom. Got it all right here. How d’you want to do this?” He addressed the Bandit Queen.

 

“If you hand cash to Pedro,” the Bandit Queen indicated him, understanding it was easy to get confused as to who was who with her men, “he make sure all there and then we hand your Bellamy back. Comprende?”

 

“Sure,” Chris agreed, fighting the overwhelming urge to piss himself laughing at the whole thing. He walked toward Pedro’s horse and held the bag out to the man on it with a smile he couldn’t stop. “Here you go, man. Nice hat, by the way.”

 

Pedro preened. “Gracias, amigo.” Leaning toward Chris conspiratorially, he quietly asked, “You think your blonde friend like my hat too? As me like _everything_ about your blonde friend.” Chris’ eyes widened and he choked back a cackle. “I’ll ask him for you.” Smiling in gratitude and taking the proffered bag, Pedro counted the contents as Chris rejoined the others. This was always his job, as he was the only one who could actually count apart from the Bandit Queen, so he was done quickly. “Is all here, Bandit Queen.”

 

She nodded happily, her donkey farm so much closer. “We pleased you play along so well, senors. We really like you and hope you no take threats and stuff personally. Is business, si?”

 

Tom, Dom and Chris all gave bemused nods. “Think nothing of it,” Dom told her politely. He glanced at Matt, who was suspiciously quiet. “I think you can get down now, Bells. Time to go. Gig tomorrow, remember?”

 

Matt gave a reluctant nod, but made no attempt to let go of the Bandit Queen. “Tom, I want you to arrange tickets to the show for the Bandit Queen and her mates. Ten should do it. Make it so they can collect them from the venue. If they want to go, they should be able to.”

 

“Um… Okay-” Tom started, but was interrupted by the squeal of joy the Bandit Queen unleashed on hearing this. Contorting in the saddle so she could look into Matt’s face, she beamed at him. “Senor Bellamy, you most generous to your kidnappers.” She lowered her voice and leaned in closer to Matt’s ear. “Wish we could show you how grateful we are.”

 

“Hmmm… I wish you could too. But I’ve got to go,” Matt murmured into her hair. “Have you got any song requests before I do? If I can play it, I will.”

 

Practically swooning in delight, the Bandit Queen raised a hand and ran her fingers lightly across his cheek. “Just in case, had bandits take vote, and they want ‘Dead Star’. But me? Me happy, _horny_ Bandit Queen if you play ‘Sunburn’ for us, Senor.”

 

Chuckling, he wrapped his talented fingers gently around her throat and brushed his lips against hers. “ _She burns like the sun_ ,” Matt sang so only she could hear, “ _and I can’t look away_.” He kissed her sweetly. “ _And she’ll burn our horizons. Make no mistakes._ ” Releasing her, he drew back and gave her dazzled face one last mischievous smile before turning to a perplexed-looking Dom. “Give us a hand down, man?”

 

Dom trotted forward and grabbed Matt as he swung a leg over the back of the horse and slid down its flank, catching him before he could fall. “Cheers, mate,” Matt said as he straightened with a groan, rubbing his aching backside.

 

“No worries, Bells,” Dom replied as he gave Matt a questioning look. “What was all that about, then?”

 

“Oh. Just saying goodbye, is all,” Matt shrugged and started to walk stiffly away from the Bandit Queen’s horse. “Pretty cool for a raving loony fangirl kidnapper, you know.”

 

“I can imagine,” Dom agreed with a laugh. Tom and Chris joined them as they headed across the ruined village towards the distant car.

 

“So, Dommy, what’d you think of Pedro? ‘Cos _he_ thinks you’re dreamy. I…” Matt’s voice trailed away and he stopped in his tracks, looking back over his shoulder at the sound of horses on the move. The men were beginning to depart, but the Bandit Queen remained, a breathtaking sight mounted atop her great black horse, with her wild hair and red corset. She flashed him a lusty grin and waved the bag of cash in her hand at him. “Muchos gracias, Senor Bellamy!” The Bandit Queen called. “We name a donkey after you!” And with a cry of “ _Arriba_!” she wheeled her horse and galloped away.

 

Giggling, Matt turned back and continued walking. The others were all staring at him as they followed, expressions ranging from baffled irritation to borderline hysterical mirth. “What?” He enquired, all innocence. Silence. Matt smirked wickedly. “Haven’t seen my hat, have you?”

 

**THE END**


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